I Can't Look at Mickey Mouse the Same Way Ever Again
When I was a little boy, I loved Disney. It probably goes without saying that Disney is something in every childhood, whether or not you’re a fan. My personal favorites were the Lion King and anything to do with Mickey Mouse. Mickey Mouse was a cartoon figure I absolutely adored. I loved to watch him fool around in the screen, and scramble around to get out of trouble he’d unintentionally cause. I was always known for my childish obsession for the Disney mascot. My parents liked to joke that the first words I ever spoke was “Mickey Mouse.” One of my fondest memories is of me having a Mickey Mouse themed birthday party for my sixth birthday where everyone had to wear Mickey Mouse ears instead of party hats, and my mother hired a man in a Mickey Mouse costume instead of a magician or a clown. Every year, my parents without fail gave me a gift that had to do with the mascot. One year, I’d get a Mickey Mouse lunchbox, and the next, action figures of Mickey and his friends, then the next they’d take me to Disney World. My shelves were filled with dolls, toys, and pictures of the iconic mouse. I always took a plush Mickey with me wherever I went. This was true until my ninth birthday. Being born in the summer, my birthday always involved a pool to cool kids down. My classmates loved it — even if they never spoke to me any other time of the year — and the few who could not make it because they were travelling were sorry to miss it. I remember there was a small five-year-old boy who disappeared that summer, so it looked like my birthday party would be mostly empty as overprotective parents refused to let their children out of their sights. To counter this, my parents went crazy with the theme. They didn’t buy a cake with Mickey’s face drawn on it. They bought a triple tiered cake with figurines of the mouse and his friends decorating the white frosting like miniature versions of a Disney World parade. They spent a mass amount of money for horses, people in costumes, and even security guards to ensure the safety of the children. When it was time to open presents, I thought I got the best present any kid could ever wish for. It had caught my eye at the beginning of the party – a particularly large box, big enough for even me to fit in, wrapped in silver packaging dotted with Mickey’s face. I couldn’t wait to open it and see what large object my parents could have possibly gotten. After opening the last gift from my friends, my parents finally brought the giant box outside. It had to stay on the ground for me to open it, and I ripped the wrapping off, eager to get my hands on whatever giant object was hidden inside. I didn’t let the bold capital "REFRIGERATOR" on the box deter me. My parents always liked to reuse boxes, so it wasn’t unusual for them to place my gifts in a shoe box or something of the same caliber. I peeled away the painstaking piece of tape. My classmates all leaned forward, waiting for my reaction as I finally got the flaps to open, all of them curious as to what giant object I could have possibly gotten. The first thing I noticed when I opened the box was two flat ebony circles, lined with a velvety texture. It was obviously Mickey’s ears. They were attached to what looked like a giant head. At this point, my parents stepped in. With a big smile, and my dad pulled out a life-size Mickey Mouse doll, unknowingly hefting what would become my worst nightmare on the table. All my friends were in awe as the giant Mickey stood right in front of me. He stared ahead with blank, black eyes and that iconic smile stretching across his cheeks. He was one of those dolls that could stand on its own thanks to the tough pipe cleaner-like materials used in giant poseable dolls. In hindsight, it should have been creepy. But, being the kid that I was, I absolutely loved it. I couldn’t believe how expensive the gift must have been and figured that the reason I only got one present from of my parents this year was because they both chipped in to buy me a real-life Mickey. After that day, I was completely obsessed with that doll. There was just something about having a life-sized toy of your childhood idol. I almost believed that he was really alive. I would push him across the wooden floorboards and watch his own show with him, talking to him like he would really answer back. I stopped going outside, instead playing with my new friend. He watched for monsters from the corner of my room at night, and I was able to finally sleep without a nightlight, just knowing that Mickey would protect me from any sinister creature of the night. It was the last summer I would spend with my love for Mickey intact. Then, it began. The worst moments of my life that still scars me to this day. It started with things I could easily brush off. Like if I was doing my homework and felt a prickling sensation as if I was being watched, I would turn and see Mickey staring at me from the corner as he always did when I didn’t lug him around the house. Sometimes, I would get so creeped out at his abnormally long oval eyes that I’d turn him away to face the wall, silently telling myself that I just didn’t want Mickey to guilt-trip me into playing with him instead of doing my schoolwork. Sometimes, when I got up to get a drink of water while watching a show, I would again feel like I was being watched. Turning my head, I would see Mickey positioned so he was staring right at me while I got my drink. It was eerie, thinking that something like that could move on its own. But, I chalked it off as me nudging it as I walked by, completely denying the fact that I went in the completely opposite direction to go around the couch. It got worse in the dark. That moment when the light flicked off and darkness engulfed me, then when it got just light enough for me to make out shapes and shadows of the items strewn about my room was when the nightmares truly began. I would once again be overcome by the sensation that I was being watched, and my eyes would always draw towards the dark silhouette of my best friend against the whitewashed corner. I could just make out the darkness of his open mouth against his pale face. For some reason, it seemed to me that Mickey’s mouth was huge and cavernous like an open mouth of a whale. I would shudder, turn my back and fall asleep with my soft stuffed Mickey in my arms. Every night, the feeling got worse until one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had had enough. Before going to bed, I grabbed my life-size Mickey and dragged it outside my room, placing him next to my door like he was a guard. I whispered to him that it would be better for him to keep monsters away from outside before entering my room and shutting my door. Somehow, I felt free without the presence of the mouse in my room. I went to bed without the feeling of dread, and it was the first time in days that I got a good night’s sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I was met with my Mickey standing in the corner of the room, staring at me. I almost jumped right out of my bed, thinking he must have moved on his own. Then, as my brain began to wake me up, I realized that it was likely that my mom had moved the doll inside after seeing it in front of my bedroom. I shrugged and greeted the doll as I did every morning. “Good morning, Mickey. Thanks for keeping all the monsters away. You’re the best.” It went on like this for several days. I would put Mickey outside to guard my door, then my mom would place it right back into my room the next morning. Still, Mickey never ceased to take me by surprise when I awoke to see him staring in my direction with those lifeless black eyes. The days grew colder as autumn rolled around. We had a large gathering for thanksgiving at my house, and my cousins were just as awestruck as I was when they saw my life-sized doll. They begged me to play with him, and I reluctantly agreed. They sat in front of Mickey for hours, just staring and touching, posing his arms so it looked like he was asking for a handshake. When they left, I looked over my doll and was furious to see the head nearly decapitated, probably the result of tug of war. I took it upon myself to fix it, using glue and rough stitches to stick the head back on permanently. Somehow, knowing my Mickey was hurt made his vacant smile creepier than ever. I asked my mother, who was occupied with washing the massive piles of dishes, to not bring in my doll in the morning as I left him outside for a reason. She replied with a simple hum, and I worried that she might not even had heard me. I was proved correct the next day when that disturbing grin watched me wake up. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Now, looking at him, I could see just how terrifying he was. Those large dead eyes staring wide open without the need to blink, and the impossibly huge smile spread across his face. It was almost like a revelation, how unsettling that Mickey really looked. To put it simply, it was like loving those creepy, stop motion films as a child and only realizing when you’re much older how uncanny those clay faces are. Only, it happened within a day. As I went into a staring contest with that terrible grinning doll, I couldn’t shake off the prickly sense of sickening dread spreading through my body. I had enough. I stormed over to the doll, grabbed it by its massive head and dragged it outside my room. I went over to the storage room and threw the doll face down on top of old suitcases before closing the door. I confronted my mother that morning, asking her why she continuously returned the doll inside my room every time I placed it outside. She only raised a brow in concerned confusion as she placed a plate of pancakes in front of me. “What do you mean, dear?” she had said. “Your doll was already inside your room when I woke up.” I felt like I had been doused in a cold bucket of water. She had to be joking. Maybe it had been my dad. Yes, it had to be. He had a habit of staying up late to watch the news before turning in for the night. He must have always placed the doll into my room before going to bed. No. It couldn’t be. A chill ran down my spine as I realized my father had gone down to visit my grandmother at the hospital. He planned on staying a couple of days with her and wasn’t due to come home until that afternoon. I kept telling myself that maybe I had only imagined myself putting that doll outside. That it was just a recurring dream that I believed really happened. A poor attempt, really. That night, after my dad returned from his trip, my parents went to bed earlier than usual. I stayed up playing video games before I decided to go to bed. The smaller Mickey dolls didn’t creep me out, and I wondered just what it was about the big one that unsettled me. I turned off my light and went to bed, hugging one of my dolls to sleep. I woke up in the middle of night. My clock told me it was almost three in the morning. My stomach coiled with dread, and the first thing I did was stare at Mickey’s corner. I breathed a sigh when he wasn’t there and struggled to go back to sleep. It was then that I heard it. It was almost imperceptible, a slight rustle that makes you question if it was really there at all. I heard a creak of the floorboards right outside my door. I froze in complete terror, knowing that it was probably nothing. Still, I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding and my palms from sweating. I was frozen under my duvet, feeling the heat of fear prevent my limbs from catching the cool night air outside my greenhouse of a blanket. I don’t know how long I stayed frozen until I fell asleep. My mom woke me up the next morning, angry. I was clueless as she began to scold me for making a mess. I was confused at first, then she dragged me down to the kitchen and showed me the cluttered pots and pans and the shattered porcelain tea set she had gotten for Christmas. She thought I must have stumbled around in the dark and caused the mess while trying to find a cup for a drink of water. I told her that it wasn’t me. That I hadn’t even gone out of my room. She didn’t believe me. Not a single word of it. I had to clean up the mess and my console was confisticated as I was grounded for making a mess and lying about it. I was too angry at my mother to even think of the possibilities of what really happened then. The day went on as usual. Me hiding away in my room, sulking bitterly about my unfair punishment, and my mother cleaning up the house before going out for groceries. I never realised I was alone until I realised that my father had returned to work that day. For some reason, being alone in my room freaked me out, even in the light of day. I felt the familiar prickle and whirled around to look at the corner where my Mickey usually stood. It was relieving to find it empty, but I couldn’t shake the feeling off, even when I left the room and went down into the living room to watch some TV before my mom came back. Almost instinctively, I turned to the Disney channel. I don’t even remember what show I watched back then. While fixing my gaze on the television screen, I felt beside me for the life-sized Mickey doll like it was second nature. When I felt nothing, I remembered with slight guilt how I had thrown the doll into the storage room without a second thought. I scrambled up and practically ran to the storage closet with an apology on my lips. When I threw open the door, I froze. There was Mickey, standing right in front of the door like he’d been waiting for me to open it. “M-Mickey?” I said, almost expecting an answer. The reason I shoved him in there came back with the dread knotting my stomach. Somehow, his smile seemed more sinister than I’d ever seen before. I couldn’t see the cheerful face anymore, and no matter how much I stared, all I saw was a mean sneer. Shaking my head, I shut the door before returning to my show. My mom caught me at the television. She was livid, and I was promptly sent to my room with an extension. I was too angry to even come down for dinner. That night was the night that began the true terror that changed my life. The reason I can’t stand to look at Disney’s icon the same way ever again. I could chalk it off as sleep paralysis, a vivid nightmare, something, anything, but in my heart, I truly believe this happened. I was in my bed as usual with a soft Mickey plush pulled tightly to my chest. I was in a fetus position, facing my door. After falling asleep, I once again awoke in the middle of the night. This time, it was closer to two in the morning. The same sickening feeling clumped over me, and I froze from beneath the cover. I watched the door with wide eyes, my breath hot against my hands. The same creak I heard the night before rang loudly in my ears. I thought it would stop there as it did the night before, but it was so much worse. The door creaked open, just a crack, and a face I dreaded to see peeked in. I could see the dark abyss of its eyes against its pale face, just watching me and that smile… It stood there, watching me shiver in terror with a sick, twisted grin. It didn’t move so long as I kept my eyes locked on it, and I didn’t dare to fall asleep. For hours, we had a staring contest, it watching through the doors, and me struggling to fight my heavy eyelids. Finally, sleep won the battle, and I fell asleep with a terror twisting in my stomach. It was my dad who was enraged this time. His paperwork had been scattered throughout the house, and his reading glasses were shattered — trampled. My parents blamed me, of course, thinking I was taking out my anger by strewing about important documents. I didn’t even bother bringing up my Mickey doll, knowing they wouldn’t believe me. It probably would have made them angrier than they already were. I dreaded to stay in my room, but being grounded, I had no choice. Night came all too fast, and I was afraid to go to bed. Even more so, I was afraid to be awake when I saw the doll move. With a heart full of trepidation, I crawled into bed, grabbing a doll and squeezing it tight. I fell asleep surprisingly fast, but I was yet again awakened past two in the morning. I waited for the inevitable creak of the floorboards and the opening of the door. Once again, my body froze in fear. At this point, I’m not sure if what happened next was all a dream. As my door finally opened to reveal that large pale face, I saw the doll move. It seemed to walk forward, pushing the door enough for it to step inside. I whimpered and squeezed my eyes, hoping it was only a dream — a nightmare I would soon wake up from. Movement of air in front of me and a horrid stench hitting my nostrils told me that Mickey had come right in front of me. With great reluctance, I cracked open an eyelid, and my breath caught in my throat. I saw the massive bulk his form in front of me, the red around his waist looking like crimson blood, and the white buttons like wide, glowing eyes. I struggled to open my eyes wide and look into the vacuous black sockets and horrible twisted smile. I would have screamed had it not been for my frozen body refusing to comply with my pleas. Mickey’s head was bowed so he was staring right at me, his eyes too big, his grin too wide. He stood in front of me, not moving until I passed out from exhaustion. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I ran to the storage closet with the intention to burn the doll and put a stop to my nightly terrors. When I threw open the door, all I saw was an empty space, Mickey nowhere to be seen. Nothing else had been disturbed in the house that night, and I was thankfully spared from taking the blame for another mess. I wish I could say it ended there, with the disappearance of that doll. But, I probably wouldn’t be writing this if it did. That day, my parents had a massive fight. I was stuck in my room with a closed door that barely muffled the insults they threw at one another. My mother cried herself to sleep, and my father left the house. All this happened while I was hugging my knees under my covers. “Johnny.” A soft call startled me, and my eyes widened in pure horror. I thought I heard wrong, but it came again. A slight rustle followed by that same, haunting voice. “Johnny, why did you leave me?” I swear I saw a shadow rise up, two unmistakable ears forming the shape of Mickey’s iconic symbol. It warped against the bedsheets, and I didn’t dare to move. “You hurt my feelings, Johnny. You hurt me.” The shadow grew as Mickey drew closer. I could almost feel his presence right next to me. In pure terror, I threw my duvet off my head and jumped towards the door. With tears in my eyes, I whirled around to look at Mickey’s frozen body still facing my bed. He didn’t move, and I didn’t want to touch him. Fear sent me flying into my parent’s bed next to my mother. She sniffled, but didn’t move to comfort me or chase me away. I spent the night there, in the safety of my mother’s presence, and the cursed doll didn’t come to watch me in my sleep. For the first time in a long while, I could finally rest without fear. When I woke up, my mother was gone. No breakfast was laid out for me, and I was in the house alone with that doll roaming free. My fear grew as the day passed with neither of my parents coming home. The sky went dark as the sun began to set, and still, I was alone, cuddled on the couch with all the lights turned on. I feared I would have to spend the night alone with Mickey watching me sleep. It was a relief when I heard my dad’s car pull up in the driveway and both my parents returned to the house. My mother apologized and explained to me that she had gone to get my father. We had dinner together, and though tension was still thick in the air, I was happy. My joy was short-lived, however, as my bedtime came rushing around the corner. School started up again the next day, so I had to go to bed much earlier than I had grown used to. I dreaded going up to my room, away from the protective blanket my parents’ presence provided. As I climbed into bed and covered my head in my sheets, I resolved to stay awake the entire night to keep Mickey at bay. My resolve wasn’t strong enough. To this day, I am easily persuaded to go against my initial decisions. The moment I was startled awake, I knew what would happen. I waited for the telltale creak outside the door, then the entrance of the mouse I could no longer stand to see. However, what happened that night was the worst by far. The creak I expected never came, and instead, I heard rustling from somewhere in my room. I felt my bed move ever so slightly, and I nearly threw up when I realized it was coming from under my bed. I closed my eyes, attempting to sleep to stave off the torture this doll inflicted on me. When nothing else happened, I reluctantly opened my eyes and saw in confused relief that the large doll wasn’t standing right next to me. My fear grew tenfold, however, when I saw the familiar shape at the foot of my bed. The stench of rot seemed to permeate from it, defiling my senses. I knew once I fell asleep, it would disappear to wherever it hid itself, and it did not occur to me that it came from beneath my bed. For days, the events repeated. I lost sleep and was caught numerous time dozing off in class. My mother was not happy. She demanded to know why I continued to be problematic; she was more irritable than usual. I finally told her about the doll, but she didn’t believe any of it, even going so far as to say that the doll didn’t exist. I had argued with my mom for the rest of the ride and stomped into my room when we arrived. I don’t know why it happened that night. Why it was different. Maybe it was because I was angry or maybe it had just had enough fun. But it was this night that broke the camel’s back. Instead of waking up because of the oppressive force of darkness and fear, I awoke because of movement on my bed. In my half-sleep stated I didn’t realize what could be causing it, and I promptly dropped my head back on my pillow. Feeling hot, I remember sticking my left foot out of the covers, then something velvety sandwiching it. This gave me a jolt of shock and I sat up, bewildered. There, frozen in front of me, was Mickey’s head, separate from his body with my foot gently placed in the crevice of its open-mouthed sneer. His body stood at the foot of my bed where he always had. The sight of him about to swallow my foot sent my stomach reeling with nausea. It was the last straw. I did what I had never done before and screamed for my parents. The pounding of footsteps gave me little solace as I jerked my foot away and scooted onto my pillow with tears streaking down my cheeks. Mickey stayed still with those dark sockets looking at me, and that smile growing ever wider. Finally, my door burst open, and my parents rushed in. My dad clicked on the light, washing my room in brightness. My mother clutched me to her chest and my father, with a look of anger, grabbed the head and body of the doll and dragged it away. He burned it in the yard, the stench of burning velvet and the entity that claimed that doll as a vessel telling me it would never follow me again. “I’m sorry,” my mother muttered into my head. “I’m so sorry.” The trauma of what had happened that night sent me away from my house, and I lived with my aunt until I was old enough to move out. My parents split up; my father had been arrested for drunk driving soon after and taken into prison for murder. My mother was found hanging in the house of my childhood with a note that profusely apologized to me. The moving doll, the metallic, rotting stench — it became a haunting memory that I now associate with that cheerful, mousy character. I’ve decided to share this here because I’ve realized the true horror of what happened with that doll. I never realized why the doll’s eyes were empty like sockets, and it never occurred to me until now that the doll had once been hollow. It's still confusing for me to connect the dots from my unreliable memories, when I still can't tell if what I saw was a figment of my imagination or a reality. But what puzzles me the most is the how it was able to move when the body inside had been dead for months. Category:Reddit Pastas